The Waking of Orthlund [Book Three of The Chronicles of Hawklan]

by Roger Taylor

  'Be quiet, and keep walking,’ said the man.

  Very soon, Isloman saw the Mathidrin camp through the undergrowth. Like the sentry, it was well hidden, and implied a degree of training that he would not have imagined the Mathidrin capable of. He frowned again.

  'Ho, the camp,’ shouted the sentry.

  There was no reply.

  The man glanced quickly over his shoulder. ‘Ho, the camp,’ he shouted, more loudly, an excess of rasping anger in his voice further betraying both his youth and his nervousness. ‘Prisoners coming in.'

  This time there was a response. A tousled head appeared out of the makeshift shelter and cast a weary glance upwards into the rain. ‘Very funny, Crooper,’ it said sarcastically. ‘Very funny. It's not our fault you drew last watch. You didn't have to wake us all up in the middle of the night.'

  'It's nearer the middle of the morning, Criach,’ the young man snapped back. ‘You should've relieved me an hour ago, but let that pass. Get your idle behind out here, right now, we've got visitors.'

  The party came in full sight of the shelter, and the head, startled, disappeared. After a small commotion, Criach reappeared in a state of barely modest undress: a cloak thrown loosely over his head and shoulders. He shivered slightly in the morning rain.

  Isloman was about to smile vacantly again when the Queen swept past him, hood thrown right back, and cloak opened a little to reveal in part her Muster uniform. ‘Well done, men,’ she said authoritatively. ‘You keep an excellent guard considering you're so far from the City. I'll see that your vigilance is mentioned to your superior officers.'

  Crooper's bow wavered uncertainly and his face showed he was struggling to identify this suddenly transformed ‘other fellow'. Criach reacted more quickly, hissing something to him urgently and stepping in front of his raised bow as the Queen approached. He saluted as well as he was able with one hand clutching his cloak. The Queen returned the salute. ‘Wake your Sirshiant please, trooper,’ she said. ‘We've an injured man here and we've lost our way. We need your help urgently.'

  'Majesty, there's no Sirshiant with us,’ Criach said, hesitantly. ‘We're on a special initiative exercise. But how can we help you, ma'am?'

  Sylvriss raised her eyebrows. ‘No Sirshiant, trooper?’ she said, pulling her hood forward again as the rain intensified. ‘That's unusual. Tell me about it as we ride. Get changed now, quickly. You're getting soaked. And that goes for the rest of you.'

  The last comment was made to other heads that had appeared out of the shelter to abuse the cause of the disturbance.

  'Quickly,’ the Queen repeated loudly, and the heads disappeared, along with Criach. Only Crooper remained, now standing stiffly to attention.

  'Stand easy,’ the Queen said pleasantly. The young man relaxed, but still seemed to be unusually nervous.

  'Don't worry, trooper,’ the Queen added, comfortingly. ‘You're not going to get in trouble for challenging your Commander-in-Chief. We were strangers approaching the camp. You'd no choice, and you did well.'

  'Yes ma'am. Thank you,’ Crooper replied uncertainly.

  Sylvriss turned to Isloman to say something, but he was examining Hawklan. ‘How is he?’ she asked, changing her question.

  Isloman shrugged fretfully. ‘The same,’ he replied. ‘But I won't be happy until we get some proper care for him. His cloak's keeping him warm and dry, but...’ His voice faded and he glanced quickly at Crooper, now shifting his weight from one foot to the other nervously. ‘We must get away from these people as soon as possible,’ he whispered.

  'I know,’ said Sylvriss softly. ‘But there's something odd about this group though I can't pinpoint it.'

  'Odd?’ Isloman queried. Sylvriss did not reply but turned to meet the troopers now emerging from their shelter. They lined up quickly and smartly, though all seemed ill-at-ease. Crooper joined them.

  The Queen looked at them briefly, then, walking to her horse, she mounted and signalled Isloman to do the same. ‘Gentlemen,’ she said. ‘We've no time for formalities. Break camp immediately and mount up.’ She indicated Hawklan. ‘We have to get the envoy here to a healer as soon as possible.’ There was some hesitation.

  'Majesty,’ Criach said. ‘We've been out some time. We haven't the supplies to get to Vakloss, and the horses are nearly spent.'

  Sylvriss glanced at Isloman, her face puzzled. It was not so far to Vakloss that a group of young men couldn't survive the journey without supplies.

  'And what about your own escort?’ Criach continued. ‘Won't they be waiting for you somewhere?'

  Only careful intonation prevented the question being insolent. The queen answered it simply. ‘We only had a small group,’ she said. ‘Three. A token escort for the envoy here. We got caught by a rock fall—a bad one. I'm afraid they were all killed. The envoy was hurt and we lost our way.'

  Criach looked distressed, but his manner did not ring true. Rather, he seemed relieved.

  He paused thoughtfully. ‘The nearest help will be ... to the east, Majesty,’ he said. ‘Lord Eldric's estate.'

  Sylvriss looked at him narrowly. ‘Lord Eldric is currently under arrest in Vakloss, trooper, and his friends are reputed to be preparing for a rebellion. Are you seriously suggesting I seek help at his door?'

  Criach looked helpless. ‘Majesty, it is the nearest place where you'll get proper medical help. I'm sure the Lords wouldn't treat you other than honourably and with the utmost respect.’ Then, almost as an afterthought, ‘Unfortunately, of course, we'd only be able to escort you part of the way.'

  Sylvriss frowned, then nodded. ‘Very well,’ she said reluctantly. ‘Break camp quickly, and mount up.'

  A little later, as the group rode out of the trees and joined the road, Sylvriss signalled to Isloman and the two trotted slightly ahead of the patrol.

  'There's something definitely odd about these men,’ she said. ‘Their horses are far from spent and I've never met a Mathidrin who'd even think in terms of an enemy showing honour and respect to an enemy; they're back-stabbers to a man. These men are more like High Guards.'

  Isloman nodded. The Queen's words chimed with his own thoughts but the ominous black liveries disturbed him. ‘Just stay alert,’ he said. ‘They're wearing Dan-Tor's uniform and we must assume they're his men, for all their courteous behaviour. From what I understand, your country's very divided about him. The Mathidrin could be drawing people from many sources by now.'

  Sylvriss's face wrinkled in distaste. ‘You're right,’ she said. ‘But we'd better lose them at the first opportunity.’ Discreetly she urged her horse into a fast trot. Serian followed. ‘If we're careful,’ she said. ‘We should be able to tire their horses gradually, and then outrun them.'

  Isloman nodded again. ‘Take care,’ he said. ‘Don't do anything impulsive. We can't outrun that archer, and the others are all carrying bows as well. At least we're travelling the right way at the moment. If we stop I'll try and speak to Gavor. He might be able to help distract them if we decide to run for it.'

  As the party moved steadily eastwards along the forest road, the rain gradually died out, leaving an overcast, unpromising sky. As usual, now they were riding again, Isloman noticed Sylvriss's manner lightening. The air was cool and damp about them, and small clouds of steam started to rise above the treetops lining the steep slopes around them.

  The horses splashed through the shallow puddles that mottled the uneven road, throwing up showers of spray, silver even under the grey sky, and occasionally they would ride through a gloomy arbour formed by overhanging trees, where the sound of the horses’ hooves would seem to echo.

  Skilfully and imperceptibly, Sylvriss broke up the pace of the journey, riding now faster, now slower, but always keeping a modest distance in front of the patrol so that they would not become concerned.

  Eventually, Criach rode alongside. ‘Majesty,’ he said, rather breathlessly. ‘Our horses are not as fine as yours, and they've been riding for several days already. Could we rest a
while?'

  Sylvriss turned to him, then looking back at the following patrol she reined her horse to a halt. ‘I'm sorry, trooper,’ she said. ‘I was anxious about the envoy and I'd forgotten your horses were tired.'

  As the others reached them, Isloman noted them discreetly puffing out cheeks and exchanging wide-eyed glances. The Queen's finely judged riding was taking a toll already.

  His satisfaction at this, however, vanished immediately as a large group of riders came around a bend in the road ahead. They were Mathidrin and they were galloping.

  Isloman looked quickly at the Queen. His own thoughts were reflected clearly on her face. This troop must inevitably escort them back to Vakloss. She caught his look and, with a sudden cry, urged her horse forward off the road and into the trees. Without any signal from Isloman, Serian followed, and once again Isloman found himself a passenger on a Muster horse at full gallop as the great horse surged after the Queen.

  There was a confused shouting behind them, but Isloman could make nothing of it. Somewhere above him he thought he could hear Gavor calling, but everything was lost in the din of the two horses crashing through the forest.

  Abruptly the trees thinned out into a large clearing and, to his horror, Isloman saw a line of Mathidrin horsemen had moved to cut them off. The Queen's horse reared and spun round. Serian halted rapidly, but more cautiously, in deference to his burden. Twisting round, Isloman saw more Mathidrin behind them. Then there were horsemen all around and closing in rapidly.

  He heard the swish of a sword being drawn, and felt Sylvriss's horse bump into his leg. He reached down to protect Hawklan's head. ‘Back to back, Orthlundyn,’ came the Queen's voice, urgent and commanding. ‘Look to your sword and trust your horse, they're trained for this. We're not finished yet. Whoever's in charge of these people is good but there are weaknesses in the line. They'll leave a gap and we'll be through it before they know what's happened.’ Isloman drew his sword almost unthinkingly and the approaching riders slowed to a walk.

  For a moment the only sound in the clearing was the soft clatter of tackle and the light footfalls of the horses through the undergrowth. Serian and the Queen's horse, side by side and head to tail, turned methodically on the spot. Isloman and Sylvriss, swords drawn, waited.

  Then the approaching riders stopped and one of them moved forward. At the same time, Gavor landed on Serian's head.

  'What are you doing, dear boy?’ he asked.

  Isloman stared at him, taken aback by the question, but before he could reply, the lone rider spoke.

  'Majesty,’ he said with a slight bow. ‘My apologies for startling you, but when Gavor told me some of my men had found you I was anxious to get here as quickly as possible.'

  The Queen's eyes narrowed menacingly, first at Gavor and then at the speaker, but Isloman cut across whatever intent she had formed. He smiled. ‘How's your shoulder, Dacu?’ he asked.

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  The Mathidrin reached up and pulled off his helmet to confirm Isloman's shadow sight. ‘Still stiff from time to time, Isloman,’ Dacu said, smiling and rolling his shoulder in demonstration.

  'Our own healers are very good, but I miss Hawklan's massage.'

  He nodded in the direction of Hawklan's body, his smile fading sadly.

  He turned back to the Queen, who was still levelling her sword at him suspiciously. ‘Again, my apologies, Majesty, if our uniforms and our hasty approach startled you. After Gavor found me and told me what had happened I was concerned for the safety of my charges and was anxious to reach you as soon as possible.'

  The Queen raised her eyebrows. ‘More concerned for your men than for your Queen, Mathidrin?’ she said, acidly.

  Seeing his erstwhile companion beginning to flounder, Isloman intervened. ‘This man is Goraidin Dacu, lady. He was one of the party that released Lord Eldric and the others.’ He waved an arm round the black circle. ‘I suspect these men here are High Guards on a training exercise.'

  Dacu nodded gratefully. Slowly the Queen lowered first her sword, and then her eyes. She did not speak for some time and Isloman noticed that she was breathing slowly and deeply, dissipating the desperate battle tensions that had led them both on their brief flight. Quiet woodland sounds filled the air as the group waited in silence: the trees rustling slightly, scattering gathered raindrops onto the undergrowth; a horse shaking its head; a rider's whispered reassurance; the scurrying of small animals and birds resuming their daily rounds.

  Then, looking up, the Queen sheathed her sword. ‘I'm sorry if we frightened your men,’ she said with an ironic smile. ‘But perhaps you could spare us one or two to guide us on the rest of our journey.'

  'We were due to return home today, Majesty,’ Dacu said, heartened by this response. ‘This exercise is finished. If you'll allow us to return to break up our main camp we can escort you in force.'

  'Thank you Goraidin,’ Sylvriss replied. ‘But I fear you'll be too slow for us. We're anxious to get Hawklan to proper care as quickly as possible.’ As she spoke, she looked around searchingly at the waiting men. ‘I think those men will do, Goraidin, if you can spare them,’ she said, indicating three of them.

  Dacu seemed uncertain. ‘At your command, Majesty, but...'

  'Are there any real Mathidrin patrols between here and Lord Eldric's estate?’ the Queen asked, cutting across Dacu's reservations.

  'Not that we've seen, Majesty,’ Dacu said. ‘But...'

  'Good,’ Sylvriss ploughed on. ‘We'll stop at your camp so that your men can pick up supplies, then we'll head for Lord Eldric's stronghold as quickly as we can.'

  Dacu glanced briefly at Isloman, but saw the carver was looking down pensively at Hawklan's body.

  The Queen moved alongside Dacu. ‘Don't worry, Goraidin,’ she said. ‘I've picked your best riders, they'll not slow us down too much, and they'll probably save us a lot of time in the end just by knowing the way.’ Dacu nodded reluctantly. ‘Don't worry,’ the queen repeated reassuringly. ‘We've come so far unscathed. Five of us and the bird will be safe enough.’ She paused briefly. ‘But I'll take three of your reserve mounts from your camp as well,’ she added as an afterthought. Then she moved closer, and lowered her voice. ‘I've another task for you, Goraidin.’ Dacu leaned forward. ‘I'd like you to take some of your men as far towards Vakloss as you can. At your discretion, of course. No unnecessary risks are to be taken, but the King and perhaps Lord Eldric should be heading this way and may need your aid.'

  Dacu's eyes widened. ‘The King! Fleeing Vakloss, Majesty?'

  'Yes,’ Sylvriss replied, frowning, anxious not to waste any time in idle and perhaps vain speculation. ‘All having gone well, they should be travelling this road. Can you help?'

  Sensing the Queen's mood, Dacu set aside the questions bubbling up inside him. ‘Yes, Majesty,’ he said simply. ‘When you reach the stronghold, would you tell Commander Yatsu what you've asked us to do. Tell him we're in sound condition, with no injuries and no serious supply problem. We'll be going in in correct livery.'

  Then he saluted the Queen and turned to Isloman, hand outstretched. ‘Ride safely, Orthlundyn,’ he said. ‘We've come across no Mathidrin but...’ He nodded significantly towards Gavor. ‘Keep your eyes open.'

  The remainder of the journey was uneventful, though it took its toll of the three High Guards that Sylvriss had seconded. As she had surmised, they were of great assistance in the latter stages of the journey, Eldric's stronghold being well hidden in the mountains and quietly protected by a maze of wandering paths and byways.

  However, when they finally arrived, the three men were in a sorry state. Sylvriss swung easily down from her horse and walked across the courtyard to them through the gathered servants and guards.

  'You ride well,’ she said, reaching up and supporting one of them as he slithered stiffly out of his saddle. Several hands took the burden from her. ‘I'll give you some instruction later, when you've rested,’ she added.

 
Isloman, helping the other two, smiled. ‘I don't think they're listening, Majesty,’ he said.

  Sylvriss looked round at Eldric's stronghold, solid, traditional and reliable, like the man himself. The wet courtyard glistened in the bright torchlight which shone like so many welcoming smiles out of windows and doors now filling with inquisitive heads.

  Come soon, Rgoric, she thought. This is the real Fyorlund—your Fyorlund. From such as this we can stop Dan-Tor, whatever he's become.

  Grooms moved forward to take her horse, but she shook her head. ‘No no, I'll tend to my horse, thank you,’ she said, then looking at Isloman, tenderly lifting Hawklan down from Serian. ‘And yours, Isloman. Get Hawklan to Eldric's healer right away.'

  * * * *

  Isloman woke up with a start. For a moment he could not remember where he was, then the memories of recent events flooded in on him reproachfully. Hawklan! How could he have dozed off like that? He sat up suddenly, but the movement sent his head spinning and he slumped back, eyes closed and hands clasping at his bed until the darkness itself stopped whirling.

  There was a low chuckle from nearby. ‘Relax, Isloman,’ said a voice. ‘Relax. Just lie still. The dizziness will pass.'

  Slowly he opened his eyes and turned towards the speaker. It was a slight, thin-faced man, with sparse grey hair and grey bushy eyebrows currently arched ironically over amused brown eyes.

  Isloman screwed up his face in concentration, and gradually recognition dawned. Eldric's chief healer, fetched hastily from his lowland home when Yatsu saw Isloman bearing the inert form of Hawklan.

  'Hylland,’ he said slowly. Mockingly, the man mouthed the name as Isloman spoke it, and then laughed outright. ‘Well, you've not lost all your wits, have you, Orthlundyn?’ he said. Isloman lay back again and stared up at the ceiling. It was skilfully decorated with a simple rural scene and he smiled appreciatively as he noticed how the painted foliage that fringed the scene blended imperceptibly into an intricate carved wooden tracery which decorated the upper part of the walls. He recognized it as belonging to the room he had occupied on his earlier stay at Eldric's stronghold, and he remembered remarking to Commander Varak that it reminded him of Orthlund. He appreciated the man's thoughtful gesture in putting him there again.